


Whatever Comes

by XylophoneCat



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017/18 season, Angst, Career Ending Injuries, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Supernatural Elements, but it's okay in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-23 23:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14943263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylophoneCat/pseuds/XylophoneCat
Summary: 'I want to be the best, so whatever comes with that, I'll have to accept.'- Sidney CrosbyIt takes a lot to be the best, but Sidney Crosby just had to go one step further, like he always does, to ensure that he is The Best. Years later, a decision he made at sixteen comes back to bite him in the ass, as he finds that maybe, just maybe, there are more important things out there than hockey.(Sid sells his heart to a witch. Geno sets out to buy it back.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vitamin_Me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vitamin_Me/gifts).



> Trust Sidney Crosby to provide the most dramatic, fic prompting quotes. I thought that this was close enough to your 'Geno sells his soul' prompt to satisfy! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> The biggest of thank you's to [Northisnotup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northisnotup/pseuds/Northisnotup), who has been my rock, my guiding light through my first ever exchange fic. I don't know if I could have done it without your constant encouragement! Thank you for being the most wonderful beta reader a woman could ask for <3
> 
> (see end notes for deets on injury related things. Will be spoilery.)

_The iron gate burned cold under Sid’s hand as he pushed it open. Even though the hinges were coated with dark orange rust, it barely whispered as it swung in over the garden path. Above him, the sky boiled and rolled with slate grey clouds, like a storm brewing, and thick static hung in the air. It coated Sid’s tongue, made his eyes itch, and walking forward felt like pushing through mud. His legs were jelly, his heart pounding as if he had just come off the ice after a two minute shift, but he forced himself onwards._

_The witch’s house at the end of the path watched his approach through black windows, staring at him through its cover of ivy. The willow trees that surrounded it were black in the dim light and their branches dripped down like wet hair. Their finger-like leaves brushed against Sid’s face and shoulders as he passed under them, dry against his skin. Around him, the shadows under the trees drew closer as he made his way closer to the house, and when he looked back the way he had come, all he could see was the faintest hint of the garden path, stretching out into the black. He shuddered and turned back to the door that was now in front of him._

_It was old, and carvings of ancient looking sigils marred the wood They were drawn in an inexpert hand, like a bored student etching his initials into a school desk. In the center of the wood, there was carved a simplistic eye, slit from top to bottom by a vicious slash of a line. It had been dug deep into the wood, as if run over again and again, becoming an extension of the grain. When Sid reached to run his thumb over the symbol, the door swung open. The way in front of him was as dark as the way behind, yet it drew him in like a moth to a flame. It was like something inside was calling to him, reaching out and dragging him in. His feet, suddenly so far away from him, carried him forward almost of their own accord. The door swung shut behind him._

_Somehow sure of the way, Sid found himself walking down a long hallway. He could hear nothing but the thudding of his own heart in his ears, the rush of blood under his skin. Every step he took, he could feel the reverberations through his whole body, jarring and jagged, and it made his breath stutter in his throat. He couldn’t have said for how long he walked down that narrow passage. Time seemed to stretch and shrink, seconds expanded into eternities and hours passed in the blink of an eye._

_And then there was another door._

_Slightly ajar, pale light spilled through the crack between the door and its frame. Pale like winter mornings, when everything is buried in snow and all colour has been drained out of the world. Sid pushed it open and stepped through into his mother’s kitchen._

_It was exactly the same as always; the same yellow tiles, the tap that always dripped no matter how much you tighten the faucet. The fridge humming its monotone tune. And there at the kitchen table sat his mother, her legs crossed at the ankles as she bent her head over that week’s crossword. He could smell the faint floweriness of her perfume. It wasn't quite the same as usual - it has an earthiness to it, like rot. Not bad, just. Strong. She looked up and smiled at Sid, wordlessly pushing out the chair next to her with her foot like always. Sid clambered up on the offered chair, cushioned his chin on his hands against the table to watch her fill in the last few clues._

_“Good practise, baby?” she asked, smoothing his curls back from his face in a way she hadn’t done in years. Her palm was dry against his skin. Sid nodded. “Good, that’s good. Going to be the best, hey baby?”_

_Sid nodded again. Her voice was so soft, almost like a song, and his eyelids began to feel so heavy, fluttering shut even as he tried to keep them open. He struggled to follow what his mom was telling him, fixed only on the up and down cadence of her voice. Her lips moved, but she spoke no language that Sid knew. He dropped his eyes to the table, the swirling grain of the wood catching his gaze, and he traced the lines round and around. It suddenly felt like the most important thing in the world to catalogue every whorl and knot that was trapped under the chipped varnish._

_“What would you give me to be the best?” His mom cooed, suddenly breaking through the fog in his brain. Sid lifted his heavy eyes to his mom’s face. Only it wasn’t his mom. Somehow Sid had missed the black eyes, glassy and lifeless, like polished stones. He hadn’t noticed the corpse white skin and how it hung puffy and loose on the hollow frame of the witch’s face. Sid found himself frozen in place as it stretched a pudgy hand out towards him. “What will you give me, baby?”_

_Sid screamed as the witch plunged its hand into his chest, white hot pain searing through him. He could feel his veins turning to dust as it rummaged around in him, searching for something worth taking. It grinned at him, slow and sharp like poison as it wrapped its fingers around his heart, squeezing against the frantic beating. Its face flickered madly as it pulled and Sid-_

Sid woke with a gasp, dragging down a huge, stuttering breath. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, his hand flying to his chest and pressing hard against his clammy skin, feeling for where his heart thundered. He breathed in deep through his nose, out through his mouth, counting to five each time just like his mom had taught him. The clinging memory of the dream suddenly sharpened into a roll of nausea at the thought of his mother, and he swung himself quickly out of bed and through into the ensuite.

Under the pale bathroom light he looked washed out, looking as pale and as tired as he felt. He leant over the sink until the nausea faded, vaguely wishing for some kind of death. The travel clock by the mirror told him it was three in the morning and he sighed. The Sid in the mirror stared back at him, his hair a bird’s nest of day old gel that he had forgotten to brush out, his eyes ringed with dark circles, mapping his exhaustion on his face plain for anyone to see. He tapped his fingers absentmindedly against the small starburst scar over his heart, barely visible against his sun deprived skin. He only knew where it was because he knew where to look for it.

“Dreams again?” Geno asked from the door. He was rubbing sleep from his eyes, squinting against the harsh light. His hair was even more of a disaster than Sid’s.

Sid shrugged, flashed a tight smile at him. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Go back to bed.”

Geno gave him a long, narrow look before pushing off from the doorframe and over to Sid. He was still naked, and Sid couldn’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance at how easily Geno moved through his space. As if he owned some part of Sid. He tried to swallow the feeling as soon as it rose in his throat, but it lay like a film over the back of his tongue, bitter and metallic. When Geno moved in to kiss his temple, he had to close his eyes.

“Okay?” Geno’s voice was so full of tender concern and Sid couldn’t bring himself to look at him. He knew too well what concern looked like on Geno; brown eyes soft and liquid, full of something Sid didn’t even know how to name, let alone feel for himself. What he did know was a painful tightening in his chest every time Geno looked at him.

Some part of Sid knew that he was leading Geno on. Every time he let Geno kiss him long and slow and sweet, he could feel the sands running through his fingers. He could feel the time ticking down until this whole thing blew up in their faces. Because Geno was a romantic. He believed in soulmates, in love and commitment. Two hearts becoming one. And Sid, well. Sid didn’t.

He couldn’t

“I’m okay,” he lied, smiling at Geno through the mirror.

He let Geno tug him back to bed, forced himself to relax. Outside the security light had come on, probably tripped by a bird or a stray cat, and was bleeding pale grey light around the blackout curtains. In the gloom Sid could make out the shape of Geno next to him, the planes and contours of his body under the sheets. He watched him, watched the fall and rise of his chest deepen and slow as he drifted back to sleep. Sid tried to match his breathing, hoping it would be enough to send him off too. All it did was make him far too aware of his own body - the faint ache in his hips that seemed ever present now that he’d hit thirty. The twinge in his shoulder where he’d taken an awkward hit from one of the Stars the other night. The heavy thud of his heart.

He reached a hand out and pressed it against Geno’s chest. He shifted under Sid’s touch, and for a horrible second Sid thought that he was going to wake and they’d have to do the whole ‘what’s-wrong-I’m-fine’ routine all over again. But he didn’t, and Sid fell asleep like that, counting his heartbeats under his palm.

* * *

Sid was more distant than usual the next day. Geno was used to it by now. He was used to the way Sid would pull him in with dark eyes and wandering hands and warm, wet kisses. Used to the way that Sid would all but ignore him the next morning. And each time, Geno would swear that it would be the last time, right up until the next time. Maybe he was just a lovestruck fool, but as long as Sid was willing to give, Geno wasn’t going to say no. It had been going on like this, on and off, for close to four years now, with no sign of stopping.

It wasn’t until they pulled into the Sports Complex parking lot that Sid seemed to wake up for real. His eyes lost their glassiness and filled up with the determined spark that Geno had first fallen in love with. Geno wished that he had the ability to pull Sid out of his head as easily as hockey did. Sometimes he wondered what it was like to be on the receiving end of such fierce devotion. 

Sid was out of the car before Geno even managed to put the it in park, striding across the lot and disappearing through the automatic doors. Geno sighed, tried not to feel too hurt about it. He was getting better at it, stamping down on the disappointment, but every so often it would rise at the back of his throat, tie his stomach in knots. He shook his head hard and got out the car, following Sid’s path at a far more leisurely pace. 

The early March air still lingered with the chill of February, and Geno took a deep breath, tasting ice and snow. The underlying damp of spring stirred something of a good mood in him, only improved by the sight of daffodils in the planters outside the Complex. Their bright heads nodded at him as he walked into the air-conditioned lobby, promises of sun and warmth. An end to all the fucking snow. He was whistling (badly) by the time he got his skates on, cheered further by the upbeat atmosphere of the dressing room. Bryan had immediately come over with new pictures of Cooper, and Geno always had time for that dog. 

“Hey, G,” Rusty said halfway through a video of Cooper chasing his tail. Geno liked Bryan; he had an open and honest face, and he tripped over his own tongue almost as much as Geno did. Now, his face had a faint look of anxiety, and nothing good ever came with a look like that. “What’s up with Sid?”

“What you mean?” Geno said, standing and shrugging into his practise jersey. He started to feel his brief good mood starting to flake, like old paint. “Seem like same old Sid to me.”

“He just seems kind of distracted. Spacey. I thought you might, you know. Know what’s up because you. Uh. You know.”

“Never tell me anything,” Geno said, taking pity on Bryan and his floundering. He and Sid had never been official enough to tell the team for real, but they weren’t idiots (on the whole) and had picked up on enough hints to put things together. It had resulted in a sort of vacuum around the idea of Sid-and-Geno, where no one had the words to really explain what was going on. Least of all Sid and Geno themselves. “You better off ask Tanger.”

“Oh! Okay. Sure.” Bryan looked visibly surprised at that. “Sorry man. You just seemed like the obvious guy to go to.”

Geno waved him off. “Is fine.”

It wasn’t. Not really. It left a cold spot in his stomach but he wasn’t about to tell Bryan that. No matter how much he liked the guy. He shoved his gloves on, stuck his helmet under his arm, and headed for the ice.

Sid was already out there with Olli, the two of them skating lazy circles around one of the goals as they talked. He looked over in time to catch Sid’s eye, smiled tentatively when he realised he’d been noticed. The smile he got back was slow and warm, nothing like Sid’s usual smiles that always seemed to be for show. This smile was syrup in tea, warming Geno all the way down. Far too private for the middle of a public practise, but Geno knew it was all for him.

And then as soon as it came it was gone as Sid’s face drained of colour. His mouth, suddenly too red against pale skin, gaped as if gasping for air and his stick clattered to the ice as he clutched at his chest. Geno felt a cry of - of something rip from his throat as Sid thudded to his knees at center ice. Fear and anger and helplessness warred in Geno’s chest as he skated over, writhing like snakes around each other. 

The training staff were already swarming around Sid, and someone was at Geno’s elbow, steering him away from the frenzy of activity. Geno let himself be pulled along, mind strangely blank. It was like floating and a distant part of his brain was telling him he was probably in shock. Whoever had pulled him away from Sid manhandled him down onto the bench and then positioned themselves in front of him, effectively blocking any view of the ice from Geno. And Geno from the view of the cameras.

Geno looked up into the grave face of Kris.

“We need to talk,” Kris said. Geno was helpless to do anything but nod.


	2. Chapter 2

Sid’s eyes didn’t want to open. He couldn’t tell how long he’d been out for. All he remembered was the practise, the terrible pain in his chest, and how he’d blacked out. After that had been a confused blurr of shouting and sirens and hands, touching and prodding him. He had wanted to shove them away, but his body had been so heavy, not wanting to do as it was told. He had eventually surrendered himself to his subconscious to get away from it all, and was now rapidly wishing he could stay there as awareness returned to him.

He could hear the humming of a hospital room around him, depressingly familiar with all the beeps and buzzes that came with the territory. He didn’t need to pry his eyes open to confirm where he was, but he did it anyway, despite how much he just wanted to go back to sleep.

Somehow he wasn’t surprised to see Geno sat in the chair by his bed. His hand was resting on the sheets, a hair’s breadth from Sid’s. Sid reached out a finger and poked him.

“Hey.”

“You’re an idiot.” were the first words out of Geno’s mouth, and Sid felt like he probably deserved that. “A witch, Sid? You give heart to witch?”

It was the hardest thing in the world to meet Geno's eye, and Sid was so sure that he would find nothing but disappointment in those dark eyes. But Geno just looked tired, his whole face brought down with the weight of exhaustion.

“I had to be the best,” he whispered, his voice dry and cracked. Geno made a sudden hurt noise and then something cold and wet was being pressed to his bottom lip. An ice chip, Sid realised, and opened his mouth to let Geno slide it onto his tongue. “G, I had to win.”

“Win without witch,” Geno tutted, fishing out another chip from his cup and feeding it to Sid. “Have me, have team. Better than some smelly witch.”

Sid couldn’t help the fond smile, but winced when something tugged sharp in his chest. The heart monitor, the source of the beeping, had a mild panic before settling down again.

“I didn't know you back then,” he said, rubbing absentmindedly over his starburst scar. Geno wasn't listening, a thousand miles away and frowning at the monitor. The little line jumped up and down and Geno’s eyes followed the peaks and valleys of Sid’s heartbeat.

“This curse gonna kill you,” Geno said eventually. The words fell out of his mouth like stones, gritty and heavy. “Tanger show me. Is like thorns around heart, stabbing in. Stop you feeling anything.”

“It’s not a curse, G.” but even as he said it, Sid knew the words were paper thin. Geno gave him a look. “It wasn’t meant to be a curse.”

“Don’t care what you meant, Sid,” Geno snapped, and now the fatigue was falling away to sharp, frightened anger. “Care that you didn’t tell team that you’re carrying this. That you didn’t trust us. That you thought hockey so important that you could do with- without-”

“Without what, G?” Sid asked and he thought that if he could cry, know would be the time to do it.

“Without people who love you, Sid.”

Sid scoffed, turned his face away. “I’m a pretty hard person to love, G.” he said, but he knew the words were a mistake the second they left his mouth. In his periphery he saw Geno stiffen, and then abruptly stand.

“Yes, Sid. Most hard,” he said, and his voice was trembling with anger. “Especially when you try so hard to be most stupid.”

Geno walked to the door, his shoulders tense, but just before leaving he turned to face Sid. “People still try though. Even though is hard. People do love you,Sid.”

And then he was gone and Sid was alone in his hospital room with a vague feeling that he hadn’t fucked as badly as he thought.

* * *

Geno didn’t know what it was with French-Canadians and magic, but it apparently ran deep in the bloodlines of most French families. He himself was from iron country and had about as much magical talent as a particularly stupid teaspoon. Not that he didn’t understand how magic worked. Flower and Kris had sat down with him one evening and talked him through ley-lines and places of power, and how those with magic in their blood were kin and could draw the power from those places. He knew how it all worked, he was just power-blind.

“Too much iron in your soul,” Kris had said with a wise nod.

“That’s just a polite way of saying stubborn bastard,” Flower had cackled. “Witches’ll hate you, mon chum.”

In the now, Geno was sat on his couch with Kris and Flower facetiming in. The atmosphere had a grim determination to it, the three of them trying to figure out the best way to save their friend.

“I’ve tracked the signature to the general Montréal area,” Kris said, and Geno winced at the memory of it. It hadn’t been pretty; there had been blood and fire involved, the whole ritual setting off warning tingles down Geno’s neck. “We play the Habs after the Rangers.”

In Vegas, Flower nodded. “Good. Try not to beat them too hard, you’ll probably need Price to help you, eh?”

“Why not break ourselves?” He said, shouldering his way into the conversation. “PPG big enough power source, yes? Lots good energy right now.” Sid was theirs, they should be able to help him themselves, not rely on others. 

“This is a fourteen year old curse, Geno,” Flower said, and even across the crappy phone connection Geno could hear the regret in his voice. “That magic is dug in deep and it’s safer for Sid if the one who wove the spell is the one untangling it.”

Frustration welled in Geno’s throat and he dropped back against the couch with a sigh. Whenever he thought he had started understanding magic properly, either Flower or Kris would throw another curveball at him.

“Okay, so we find witch. What then?”

“Then we threaten them into giving back Sid’s heart,” Kris said.

“You might have to bargain,” Flower said, and Kris’ expression turned thunderous. Geno knew how he felt. Enough damage had been done by bargaining with witches. Nothing good could come of it. “It might be the only way. It won’t let go of something like a human heart without a good incentive.”

“We figure out a way.” Geno said. “For Sid. We have to.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sid was bored out of his goddamn mind, and lying face down on his couch and moping was the only thing he could do about it. Management hadn’t been able to stop the news of his little incident in practise from getting out into the open, and now the internet was full of gossip about the state of his health. Everything from blood clots to strokes had been suggested, and the fact that he’d been put on IR only fanned the flames of speculation. He’d been put on a restricted workout, and now the team was heading to New York and Montréal for a few days he didn’t even have the guys to distract him from how much his life sucked right now

It was times like this when he genuinely considered getting another dog, something that needed a lot of walking. Not one as big as Matt’s, because those things were monsters and Sid wasn’t sure he could deal with the slobber. Maybe another lab? Or would that mean he was replacing Sam? He grunted with frustration and picked up his phone from where he’d dropped it by the couch.

He’d already tried calling Taylor and just got an earful of ‘how could you’ and ‘I can’t believe you’. He had an unopened snapchat from Seguin, and one from Nate, and then all his other notifications were from the different group chats he was in. Nothing from Geno. He swiped the notifications away without opening them. If it was important they would email him.

He just. He missed Geno. It was like a cold ache in his chest, expanding and filling him more and more the longer he was away. It was like how it was every time he was away from hockey; everything seemed dull, pointless without it. He couldn’t have told anyone when that feeling had become attached to Geno as well, when everything had started coming back to Geno. He just knew that the feeling sucked.

“I think I’m going mad,” he said to the empty house.

“No, you’re just bored.”

Sid scrambled to sit up, his heart going a mile a minute. Mario was stood in the doorway to the lounge, watching him with something akin to amusement.

“Jesus, Mario,” he snapped. “Give the guy with a heart condition a heart attack why don’t you?”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Mario said, coming over and setting out cartons of chinese on the coffee table. “Figured you might want some company considering the last few days.”

Sid let out an appreciative noise and grabbed the chicken chow mein and the plastic fork that Mario had picked up from him. “Thanks,” he said before digging in.

Mario watched him for a second, chopsticks poised over his own food. “Well at least we know your appetite hasn’t suffered.” he said.

They ate in silence, side by side like they did the first year Sid had been in Pittsburgh when they got in late after games. It never failed to calm Sid down, like he was eighteen again and didn’t have to worry about anything other than being really really good at hockey. But the silence couldn’t last forever.

“You know they’re only mad at you because they care,” Mario said eventually. Sid kept on eating. Mario sighed. “We’re going to fix this, Sid.”

“I don’t need fixing.”

“The fact that you were in hospital less than three days ago suggests otherwise,” Mario said dryly, and that was the downside to feeling eighteen again. Everyone else knew so much better than you. “Please, just tell me what you did.”

Sid took a deep breath.

“I was sixteen,” he started. His hands had started shaking, so he clenched them tight against his thighs. “You know all the shit about me being the next one, like I was. I don’t know, like I was going to save hockey. Interviews and scouts when I just wanted to play, and then there were all these expectations and I.” He took a deep breath, steadied himself.

“I hated it so much. I just’. I wasn’t- I wasn’t worried about myself so much, but hockey was everything. And I owed so much to my parents, I couldn’t let them down, you know?”

Mario had stopped eating, his chopsticks forgotten in his carton of sweet and sour. “So you found a witch,” he said.

Sid nodded. “Yeah. It wasn’t hard, they have this twistiness around them that’s pretty easy to find once you know what you’re looking for.”

Mario nodded. “Distortions in the ley-lines.”

“So, I found a witch. And I asked it for whatever it takes to be the best.”

“And it did what, exactly?”

Sid swallowed, the words sticking in his throat. “There’s a. There’s a curse around my heart. I can’t- fuck. I can’t feel anything much except for hockey. It was fine for years, but something’s changed.”

“Geno,” Mario said, and he said it with so much certainty that Sid couldn’t believe he hadn’t realised it earlier.

“Yeah,” he said, but it was barely even a whisper.

Mario surprised him by suddenly tugging him into an awkward one armed hug. “We’re going to fix this,” he said. “I promise.” Sid just pressed his face against Mario’s shoulder, screwed his eyes, and wished he could remember how to cry.

* * *

Montréal seemed like a real hell hole of a team to play for, but there was something resistant about Carey Price. Like he had some untouchable core of stone. Geno thought that was what freaked some people out about him, that there was a piece of him so completely unknowable that he bordered on uncanny. But he was helping them out even after they had beaten the Habs five to three, so he was a bro. 

“I mean, it’s the decent thing to do,” he said, pulling his jeep up to the curb. He’d driven them from the Bell Center, telling them they probably wouldn’t be able to find the place without him. 

“Something’s been twisting up the ley-lines in the city and it’s wigging everyone out,” he had said when they met him outside the Habs locker room earlier. “You probably can’t feel it, Kris. But there’s something doing dodgy magic out there.”

Dodgy magic. It was an interesting way of describing the thing that was probably killing Sid. Geno tried not to put blame on Price for it, but it was hard when the center of your world was slipping through your fingers and no one seemed to notice.

“Sure you don’t want me to come with?” Price asked as they got out the car.

“No, it’s family business, you know?” Kris said, and Geno didn’t miss the flicker of Price’s eyes over to him, sharp and knowing. 

“For sure,” Price said. “I’ll be out here if you need.”

Geno nodded sharply at him and turned to look at the house where Price said they’d their witch. It looked distressingly promising. Brambles weaved their way through the slats of the fence, and the overgrown grass looked almost black in the dark. The flagstones of the path up to the house were cracked, and Geno almost turned his ankle on one of them, had to grab at Kris to steady himself.

“Booby trap,” he said, and Kris rolled his eyes.

The house itself was the kind of place that just repelled attention. The kind of house that prompted school children to make up stories of murderers and thieves. A house that made you want to cross the road instead of walking right under its black staring windows. The kind of house where you’d expect to find a witch. Geno could feel his entire body straining to get away, but his heart and mind were set. He was doing this for Sid. He had to.

The front door was open when the got to it, but Kris grabbed his arm before he could open it further. “Knock before we go in,” he hissed. “Or they’ll get pissy.”

Geno did as he was told and then pushed the door open. The air inside was damp and stuck in his throat, tasted of rotting vegetation. Not bad, just strong. The bare floorboards creaked under their feet as they made their way further into the house. The rooms to their left and right were empty, just the smell of dead leaves and cobwebs still lingering.

“Try the kitchen,” Kris said, nodding down the hall. “Witches love kitchens.”

The kitchen was empty too, save for a round, wooden table. On it was strewn a jumble of crockery, cutlery, bits of dead plant, bits of live plant, and something that looked like it used to be alive. And in the shadow near the back door, where the light of the streetlamp outside couldn’t reach, was a figure. A smear of dark within the dark.

Geno felt bile rise in the back of his throat as the figure moved out of the shadows. It didn’t look human. Its eyes were like polished pebbles, or black beetles, set in a gaunt white face as shrivelled as an apple left too long in the kitchen cupboard, the skin hanging like dripping candle wax. It moved towards them in jolts and starts like a spider, and the only thing that was stopping Geno from bolting like spooked horse was the thought of this thing reaching into Sid and pulling out everything that mattered. It was that thought, the anger that flooded him because of it, that pinned him to the spot. An iron bar straight through his heart.

“You took something from my friend,” he said, the words coming from somewhere deep inside of him. “You pulled him apart and stole from him, and then you filled up the space with bitter magic, and you left it to fester and grow. And now it’s killing him.”

The witch snarled, showing Geno iits gums, grey like old meat. “Not our problem,” it said, in a voice like wet mulch.

“I am making it your problem,” Geno growled. “I’ve found you once, I’ll find you again. I can chase you down until you have nowhere else to run. Unless you give back what you stole. What you had no right to take.”

“I had every right,” the witch snapped. “It was offered freely, and I took it freely.”

“He didn’t understand!” Geno roared, his eyes blurring with frustrated tears. “He didn’t- he. Please. Give him back.”

The witch stared at him. A moment stretched into eternity. And then it reached out with a stick thin hand.

“What will you give me for it?”

“Geno, what’s happening? What are you saying?”

Geno turned to Kris, who was staring wide eyed at him. He suddenly realised he had been speaking in Russian, the language that Flower had once called so magic resistant, it was still burning witches at the stake. 

“It wants trade,” he said. “Wants something for Sid.”

“Don’t you fucking dare-” Kris started, but Geno wasn’t listening anymore.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Something important. Something precious.” it whispered drawing closer. “Something no one else has.”

Geno thought frantically for something. It didn’t help that all he could think about in that moment was dark hair, and sleepy hazel eyes. A reluctant smile teased out by gentle (and sometimes not so gentle) teasing. His ridiculous laugh, breathy and honking, and somehow beautiful, all at the same time. Somehow, somewhere, and Geno didn’t know when, but it had all become synonymous with important and precious, and Geno wouldn’t have been able to give it up if he tried.

And then it struck him. He leaned in close, whispered it to the witch. He didn’t want Kris to hear, even if it was in another language. He couldn’t let him stop him. Not with Sid so close.

“It will do,” the witch said, its lips curling in what could have been a smile. Its hands were clammy when it clasped Geno’s head, its fingers resting at the base of his skull, its thumbs pressing just under his eyes. “It will do.”

And then Geno felt a wrenching pain rush through his body. It crackled like lightning, bursting through him in electrifying jolts. His hands shook with it, his legs gave out under him and he went crashing to his knees on the grimy tile. He was faintly aware of Kris behind him, yelling at the witch, yelling at him, but he was so far away. All Geno knew in that moment was the pain, and the fact that this was helping Sid.

And then it stopped. The witch pulled its hands back and the pain left Geno’s body so quickly it left him dizzy. He dropped down to his hands, sucked down heaving breaths as his body tried to remember what the fuck it was meant to be doing. 

“Is that it?” he gasped, every lungful of air like fire. “Are we done?”

“Not done yet.” the witch said. “You will know when it is. Now leave.”

Geno’s legs felt like jelly as he pulled himself to his feet, but Kris was quickly next to him, steadying him as he got up. Price was still waiting for them when they finally got outside, back into the crisp March air. As they got closer to the car he got out, opened the back door for them.

“I felt what it did to him,” he said, giving Geno a worried look as Kris helped him into the car. “That was some powerful magic, is he going to be okay?”

“Be fine,” Geno wheezed, just grateful to be out of the smell of rot. “Just take back to hotel.”

They stopped at the Price household on the way back, at the insistence of Price himself. They stayed in the car while he went to fetch something, and he came back with a jar of what looked like butterscotch but turned out to be a candle.

“My wife makes them,” he said, passing it back to Geno. “Keeps away bad dreams. You’ll need it after what you went through.”

“Thank you,” Geno said, turning it over in his hands. 

“No problem.”

Geno dozed fitfully on the way back to the hotel, jerking awake every time he started sliding into sleep. By the time Kris had helped him up to his room, he was ready to just crawl into bed grubby suit and all. He took the time to undress, and slid under the covers in just his boxers. He didn’t have a lighter, but he felt better for having the candle next to his bed, and when he finally dropped off to sleep, it was to thoughts of Sid’s smile.


	4. Chapter 4

Sid woke up the morning after the Habs’ game feeling weird. He stretched out under the bed covers, tried to pinpoint what the feeling was. Part of it was the knowledge that he didn’t have anywhere to be, that he could lie warm and snug under his covers until nature grew too insistent to ignore. And even then he could just get right back into bed. But there was something else. Something missing.

He swung himself out of bed, his bladder finally overriding any kind of introspective thought. He was washing his hands, frowning at himself in the mirror when it hit him. He had slept through the entire night. There had been no nightmares, no jolting awake at three in the morning, no rib crushing panic as he struggled to scrape his way into consciousness. For the first time in fourteen years Sid felt a lightness in his chest that had nothing to do with hockey or winning. It was a lightness that had no reason, that existed just because he existed. The lightness of a man who had had nine hours of totally uninterrupted sleep.

And it stuck with him for the rest of the day. He found himself taking interest in things that had never caught his attention before. Like the way the soap bubbles swirled with rainbows as he did the washing up after lunch, or the rhythm of the dryer as it spun his washing. He spent twenty minutes that afternoon watching a robin rooting around in the soft earth of his backyard, probably looking for insects or worms that came up in the damp weather. Everything just seemed a little bit more important. 

At around three that afternoon, his phone buzzed with a text from Geno, and Sid felt and odd rush of excited affection when he saw the notification flash up. It wasn’t like anything else he’d felt before, except for maybe the first time he’d stepped out onto an NHL ice rink. This was warmer though, and it filled him head to toe.

 _u at home?_ Geno had sent him. 

_Yeah. Has the plane only just got in?_

_no went home for nap didnt sleep well last night,_ Geno said, and then five seconds later, _i come round now_

It wasn’t a question, and half an hour later there was a thunderous barrage of knocking at Sid’s front door. Sid opened it to a breathless looking Geno, his hair wild and his eyes bright, looking exactly like he’d just woken up. Sid was impressed he hadn’t crashed his car on the way over.

“Sid, hey,” Geno said, and then he was pulling Sid into a tight hug, holding him like he thought he might disappear. Sid gripped him back, letting Geno take the comfort he needed and was surprised to feel him shaking. He felt tears, hot and wet, soaking into his shirt as Geno let go of whatever it was that he had been bottling up. It was a surprise to find himself crying too; not Geno’s great sobs, but a quiet release of everything he that he had had locked up over the years. They held each other through it, the two of them clutching at each other in the threshold of Sid’s home.

It was with great difficulty that Sid pulled himself back from Geno’s embrace. He looked up into his tear stained face, kissed away the lone tear still trailing down Geno’s cheek.

“What did you do?” he couldn’t help but ask. Geno’s face immediately turned guilty, his eyes dropping to look at Sid’s shoulder. “Geno, what did you do?”

“I fixed it,” Geno said. His voice was rough - from emotion, from lack of sleep, Sid couldn’t tell. What he could tell was that Geno had done something that he knew Sid was going to disapprove of. It was Sid’s move now. Be mad, or let it go.

Sid took a deep breath. He had a vague inkling of what Geno could have done, and no, he didn’t like it. But then he thought about the feeling of ease he’d had all day. How easy it had been to just be. How Geno had clearly done something because he wanted to help, because he loved Sid. And Sid could see that now, really properly see it for what it was.

He cupped his hands around Geno’s jaw, tilted his head so that Geno would meet his eyes. It was like a revelation, like seeing the sun rise for the first time, and realising that this was what he had been missing all these years.

“Geno,” he said, and in that moment, even saying his name was something profound. “I love you.”

* * *

The three days they had before flying to New York went too quickly for Geno’s liking. He and Sid barely left Sid’s bed the entire time, just long enough for practise, the occasional meal, and for Sid to be cleared to play for Tuesday’s game against the Islanders. Otherwise, their time was spent getting to know each other properly now that Sid’s feelings had joined the party. Sex was almost an entirely new thing, intense and intimate in a way that had been closed off between them before. The way Sid touched him, one moment almost reverent, the next greedy and consuming, it was like everything Geno had wanted from him and had never got to have. To know that Sid wanted him as much as he did Sid, to know that deep deep down, Sid had always wanted him like this, it made him feel invincible.

“You were always more than hockey to me,” Sid said Monday morning. They were lying together, their legs tangled up under the sheets. Sid’s head rested heavy and warm on Geno’s chest, his hand tracing lazy patterns against Geno’s ribs. He had never been a cuddler before, but now Geno was spoiled for touch, the feel of Sid against him. “But I think you became what hockey meant to me. I was so in love with you and hockey, and you-and-hockey that my heart couldn’t handle it.”

“Can handle it now?” Geno asked, kissing the top of Sid’s head. Sid turned his face against Geno’s chest and pressed a smile into his skin.

“I think so,” he said, and Geno laughed.

Of course, they couldn’t shut the world out for long, and the next day they were in New York, facing the Islanders for the last time that season. It was a bad start for the Penguins, and they came out of the first with nothing to show for it. Sullivan was clearly pissed as they trailed into the dressing room for the first intermission, but didn’t yell as much as Geno was expecting. Just hard words of encouragement that didn’t look like they were going to stick, if the faces of the rest of the team were anything to go by.

Halfway through the second was when everything went to shit. Geno chased the puck into the corner behind their net, and Wagner slammed into him, sending him hard against the boards. It was a clean hit, nothing out of order in the general violence of the game, but Geno felt his knee twist in a way that it really really shouldn’t. He crumpled to the ice, his whole world turning sideways as he felt something tear and snap, and he knew right then and there, even before his helmet slammed into the ice. He was done, this was it. Thirty two years old and three cups - not bad by anyone’s standards. 

The last thing he saw before blacking out was Sid’s face, grim with sudden understanding. He was going to be so pissed at him. Worth it.

*

Geno came to however many hours later in a hospital bed, his hockey gear replaced with a pair of flimsy pyjamas. Next to his bed sat Sid, dozing in the uncomfortable looking chair, and the role reversal of this situation was not lost on Geno. He reached out to take Sid’s hand where it was lying on the bed, and it jerked Sid awake. As soon as his eyes focused on Geno, he fixed him with a scowl.

“I am so mad at you,” he said, but he was squeezing Geno’s hand tight enough to get through the haze of pain meds Geno was being pumped with, so he figured he wasn’t totally in the shitter. “You threw away your whole career for me, what kind of bone headed, goddamn stupid decision _is_ that?”

“Easy decision,” Geno said, his words only slightly slurring together. “Had great career with you, now want to be with you.”

Sid was silent for a long second before bringing Geno’s hand to his mouth and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his hand. “Your knee’s fucked beyond repair and you probably have a concussion,” he said, because even when he wasn’t emotionally distant, he still didn’t deal with feelings well. “It’s going to be a long rehab.”

“Worth it,” Geno said smugly, repeating what he’d thought on the ice. “If I get to love you forever, always worth it.”


	5. Epilogue

If someone had told fifteen year old Sid that twenty years from now he would be getting married to his long term, hockey player boyfriend, he would have laughed in their face. He would have been more likely to believe that he had won four Stanley Cups and two Olympic golds by the time he was thirty-two. And yet here he was at thirty-five, with four Stanley Cups, two Olympic golds (and one Olympic silver) and also deeply and madly in love with his goof of a hockey player boyfriend. Or rather, his former hockey player boyfriend.

He had shooed his mom and various family and friends out of the hotel room to give himself a moment to breath, and was scrutinising the state of his bow-tie in the long mirror when the door of his room opened. He sighed resignedly, gave his bow-tie a last tug.

“Mom, I said give me a-”

He was cut off by Geno’s mouth on his, his words muffled suddenly against Geno’s lips. He smiled into the kiss, tugging Geno in by his lapels, holding him close against his body. He laughed when Geno’s hands slipped down to grip his ass, and pulled backwards to look at him, careful not to knock him off balance. Geno’s knee still gave him trouble sometimes, and he had been adamant that he was going to walk down the aisle without his cane.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he admonished, but his smile told Geno that he didn’t really care. “It’s bad luck.”

Geno just scoffed, trying to move in for another kiss and whining when Sid pulled his head just out of reach. “Stupid rules for straight people,” he grumbled, dropping his face to kiss the bits of Sid that he could reach. “Doesn’t count for us.”

Sid threw his head back and laughed, then laughed some more when Geno took the chance to pepper his exposed neck with feather light kisses. He hummed with content, pleased under all the attention, and leaned back in to kiss Geno properly. God, he was so in love it was ridiculous. He pulled back again (again to Geno’s displeasure) and cupped Geno’s face in his hands, looked him right in the eye.

“I love you,” he said, with iron steadiness. “I love you so much, G.”

Geno’s pout disappeared into a wide smile. He turned his face so that he could press a kiss to the heel of Sid’s palm. 

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> All hockey game deets in this are 'canon'. I fought for ten whole minutes with nhl.com so I could go through the play-by-play for the Habs' game. Please notice and appreciate this.
> 
> (Geno sells his hockey to get Sid's heart back. He does this willingly, but does not know exactly how it will happen. Geno fucks up his knee again, and this ends his career. He also hits his head, and is suspected of having a concussion. He is at peace with his decision, and I do not present it in explicit detail.)


End file.
